


eleven christmases ago

by wonderwall_mp4



Category: Charmed (TV 2018)
Genre: Abimel, Christmas, F/F, OverWitch - Freeform, cwcharmedsecretsanta2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:54:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28437963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wonderwall_mp4/pseuds/wonderwall_mp4
Summary: reeling from a fight with abigael and unable to process her feelings, mel stumbles across a mysterious waitress, who can travel to christmases past and offers magical assistance.
Relationships: Abigael Jameson-Caine/Mel Vera, OverWitch
Comments: 9
Kudos: 33
Collections: CW Charmed Secret Santa 2020 Event





	eleven christmases ago

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Flywitchesfly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flywitchesfly/gifts).



> hello, sam! it is i, jordy, your esteemed magical and surprisingly not-late secret santa. i used your prompts "abimel" and "christmas". i may have taken some liberties.... everything i write somehow turns into a character study. nevertheless, i hope you enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it for you!

The people who knew both Abigael and Mel also knew they were some of the most talkative people you would ever meet. They were both argumentative and verbose in their own way. Mel was hot-headed, Abigael was silver-tongued, and they were both extremely hard to budge on something they were passionate about. They were, in short, the classic definition of an unstoppable force and an immovable object.

It was a blessing, sometimes. Mel’s conversations with Abigael were some of the most intellectual and thought-provoking she’d had. It was difficult to find a person who matched her in intelligence, understood how her mind worked, or cared enough to listen. It was damn near impossible to find all three in one person. Occasionally, Mel might be doing the dishes or sweeping late, too overcome with responsibility to sleep, and Abigael would pad downstairs and just talk to her, asking her questions or musing about a book she had been reading, sometimes convincing her to step away from work for a while and dance with her. Mel’s chores always got done quicker when Abigael followed her around. At first it annoyed Mel, back when she didn’t like her and had to vehemently ignore the warm feeling that rose in her chest whenever she smiled, but then she realized that Abigael was like a cat: she showed her affection by always hanging around but trying to bite you if you attempted to pet her. Metaphorically, mostly.

But more often than not, it was a curse, because with conversation between two very different people inevitably came arguments, lots of them. Like now. 

It was Christmas Eve, for God’s sake. The evening had been so happy, or merry and bright, as it were. Abigael and Jordan had joined them, and it had really felt like she was surrounded by family for the first time since Marisol died. Maggie had re-taught Macy to make coquito, Jordan had made fruitcake that somehow actually tasted alright, and they drank and laughed all night- or at least until late evening. With her stomach full of good food, veins running with a little too much rum, and Abigael’s arm draped lazily across her shoulder, Mel felt unstoppable.

And then, she wasn’t. Everyone was turning in, she was doing the dishes like she normally did, except her family had eaten enough to feed a small army and she would have to work like a madwoman to finish before midnight, and she was stressed. It wasn’t Abigael’s fault that she came over to talk to her while Mel happened to be tense. It really wasn’t Abigael’s fault that she happened to make the wrong joke at the wrong time. It wasn’t Abigael’s fault that Maggie reported a monster at the docks right when they were both ready to explode.

It was Abigael’s fault, however, that she was so reckless and stupid and bull-headedly stubborn that she insisted on traipsing out into the night to fight said monster with no backup, Mel noted to herself frustratedly, on the verge of either crying or screaming as she trudged through ankle-deep snow.

Yes, they had fought. Over what, Mel wasn’t actually sure. Maybe it was the buildup of a lot of things they never said to each other, an amalgamation of things that were actually true and false things said with ill intent, like tiny daggers thrown. It hurt that it was the worst fight they’d ever had, even when once upon a time they’d been enemies. And, yes, Abigael had spat at her “then maybe we shouldn’t be together anymore” as the final, nuclear knife to the chest, which was just the cherry on the fruitcake of suck.

And before Mel could calm herself down enough to start working on a game plan, Abigael had turned herself to smoke and went out the window faster than Mel could say whatever curse word had been on the tip of her tongue.

So there Mel was, half-frostbitten, on her way to the docks. She hadn’t thought to bring a heavier coat, hadn’t thought to portal herself there, and in the heat of her rage she’d forgotten how cold the outside world was.

When had her and Abigael turned into this? Were they doomed to be that couple who hurt each other over and over again, and kept doing it not because they hated each other, but because against all odds they loved each other? Was Abigael really that reckless, that irritatingly selfish, that vain and patronizing? Had she always been that way, and Mel just couldn’t see it through her love goggles? 

Mel was drawn out of her own thoughts by a light twinkling in the corner of her vision. She stopped her mission for a second to turn and see a small restaurant, the only light besides the dimly flickering street lights for acres. It was built like a 50’s doo-wop diner, garlanded in green and red lights that blinked mesmerizingly. Something about those lights made an ache crop up in her chest, like an old memory she’d all but forgotten. It overrode her rational thoughts, like  _ Abigael _ and  _ stranger danger  _ and  _ magic _ , and drew her in, trance-like, towards the building, with a sign over the door that read Noelle’s Sweet Treats.

And then she was inside, with no memory of how she’d gotten there. She wondered, in the back of her mind somewhere, if she was being lured, like the magic of an incubus. (That was a very interesting Christmas, and a story for another time.) It was pretty much deserted, which made sense since she was in the boondocks and it was beginning to storm like crazy outside.

Mel slid into a booth, blinking. Everything was blurred, and a little too saturated, like she’d just stepped out of a chlorine-filled pool, and suddenly there was a woman in front of her. It didn’t scare Mel. In fact, she felt suddenly safer. She thought maybe she should be scared, but it was too warm and it smelled too tantalizing inside the diner, like gingerbread and hearth smoke, for her to care. An old Dean Martin Christmas carol played tinnily in the background.

“What can I get for you, m’dear?” she asked. Her name tag read  _ Noelle _ .

Mel supposed she could stay for a cookie or two. Maybe a hot chocolate… “I’ll have a breakup.” Whoa. What was that? She couldn’t seem to say- “I meant to say argument. Worried! Angry! I mean-!” Mel clapped her hand over her mouth, while Noelle simply observed.  _ Magic _ .

Mel realized that she couldn’t tell what color her eyes or hair was, like they were shifting. Her face somehow made her feel on edge and relaxed all at once. She felt the urge building behind her lips and in her brain to tell her every little secret about her life, starting with the first time she’d ever lied to her mom at age 3. She came back to herself, struggling to keep her mouth closed. What  _ was _ this place?

“Mmm-mm!”

Noelle saw her struggle and tilted her head to the side, her multi-colored eyes glinting with pity. “So many secrets inside of you, Melanie.” 

“How do you know my name? Breakup! Who-” managed Mel before slamming her hand back over her mouth.

“Knowledge isn’t always ill-intentioned, nor is magic you don’t know,” she answered. Mel felt the urge to spill her guts cease, and she cautiously lowered her hand.

“Why did you trap me here?”

“And so many questions as well,” Noelle laughed. It reminded Mel of her mother and her favorite English teacher all at once. “Trap? Oh no, dear. You can leave whenever you want. But no one comes here unless they’re struggling with something. Something only Noelle can help you with. Isn’t that right…. Little Witch?” 

Mel froze at her use of the nickname, something that only Abigael called her. It caused a tidal wave of emotion to roil inside her; most prominently worry about Abigael being out there in the storm, and furious dismissal since, after all, she’d done that to herself. 

“Don’t worry about Abi,” Noelle said, seemingly reading her mind. Mel tried to detect malice in her voice, but there was none. “Time moves differently in the diner. And besides, she has fire in her, does she not? She will not freeze.”

Abigael did have a freakishly high body temperature. Lying next to her was like sleeping in an oven. Just the night before, Mel had been curled up next to her watching cheesy Christmas movies, and they’d only needed one blanket despite the freezing cold. Mel remembered how she made fun of the theatrics of the greedy millionaire discovering the true magic of Christmas, and pointed out every plot hole in the stupid movie. Tears welled in Mel’s eyes.

Noelle reached out and brushed one away as it escaped down Mel’s cheek. “Rest here for a moment, tell me what plagues you. Perhaps Noelle can set you free.”

Should Mel trust her? She was a random woman who ran a diner in the middle of suburban Seattle. She was definitely magical, and she somehow knew secrets. Mel normally wouldn’t trust her problems to just anyone, not even people she knew well. And not only that, Mel was a Charmed One; it was her duty to stay silent about herself to people who could use it against her or her family. But then again, why would someone that powerful lure a Charmed One in just to talk about... relationship troubles?

What the hell, it was Christmas. 

Plus, Mel was at a loss for what to do next. And cold. And those cookies smelled really good. Maybe she’d get one for each secret she told, like a reward, or something.

Mel settled into her seat. “Why should I tell you my secrets if you already know them all?”

Noelle slid into the booth across from her gracefully, her name tag clinking against the acrylic of the dining table. “The conscious self is an illusion,” she said simply.

“It is nearly 1 AM, lady,” said Mel. “You’ll have to use English. Or Spanish, I guess, if you know it.”

Noelle didn’t seem fazed by this. If she was telling the truth about what she did, helping people with their biggest problems, it was no wonder. “I see what’s on the surface. I see facts. I see what Abigael looks like, her magic, her accent, what her favorite cake flavor is. You were thinking of Abi and her touch, quite actively.” Mel flushed. “But you have to tell me the emotions, the deep, dark secrets for me to be able to help you with them. I believe it was Tim Kreider who said, ‘if we want the rewards of being loved, we must submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known’.”

“And I wasn’t thinking of why she left, only her.”

“Precisely. You’re pushing down the reason for her disappearance. That made me believe it was a deeper problem than you want to let on.” A mug of cocoa appeared in her hands, fizzling into existence akin to TV static. Mel reached for it, but Noelle took a sip. “Tell me what it is.”

Mel sighed. “We fought because she was being reckless. A demon was attacking the docks and she thought it would be perfectly fine to go after it on her own. She was being selfish about it. It escalated into us saying some pretty nasty things.”

“Oh, no, dear, I don’t mean the reason you fought today. What is the reason you fight the most?” She sat forward, pinning Mel intently with those blue-gray-green-hazel eyes. “What is the largest artery of unsaid truth that runs through the relationship that you’re too scared to puncture? The carotid that could mean death?” The urge to tell Noelle everything rose in Mel once again, and she struggled to keep her mouth shut. This was too much. She was asking her to admit something to her that she didn’t even really want to admit to herself.

“I don’t know if Abigael is good or not anymore,” she burst out in one long breath. 

“Good?” asked Noelle.

Now that Mel had started, she couldn’t stop herself. “With all the attacks, she’s been throwing herself into dangerous situations, disregarding others’ safety. She pulled Maggie in front of her the other day to block a fireball. Granted, Maggie had a shield up, but still. And I let her get away with it, putting my sister in danger, when I wouldn’t do that for anyone else,” she rambled. “Tonight was just the last straw. I was worried about her, but she just- she didn’t care, and she wanted to do it anyway, and got mad at me for holding her back. I’m afraid she’s seen what being good is like and has decided she doesn’t care enough about me to stay. I’m afraid her demon side is taking over!” Mel took a deep breath in, but found she had no more words left. 

Noelle didn’t say anything right away, which was a first. She sat back in her chair, studying Mel. Finally she said, “Is your love for others based on who is the most righteous?”

“A little?” said Mel. The spell over the diner prompted her to keep going. Mel didn’t know whether to stop herself or let go. Somehow it felt both good and bad to be saying all this out loud. “I don’t know. When I love someone, I expect they’re able to make the right choices.”

“To love someone for the mistakes they make instead of the person you know them to be, that doesn’t seem very moral of you at all, dear,” Noelle said. 

Mel inhaled sharply. As much as she wanted to protest, say that it wasn't her, that she was oversimplifying something that couldn’t be simplified, she knew that the words held at least a little bit of truth. “Isn’t a person their choices?”

“When it comes to destiny, yes, a person is more than who they were born to be, they can choose to be better,” mused Noelle. “But once that choice has been made, judging them on their flaws will do nothing but harm them, and disappoint you.”

Mel shook her head. “I just want her to be as good as I know she can be, that’s all. I don’t think she’s there.”

“Have you ever considered that maybe your idea of good and hers aren’t the same?” said Noelle, a little bit testy. “Witches, and your silly little ideas of black and white. Demons aren’t good or evil. They’re demons. They do what they please. The fact that she doesn’t laugh herself to dust at the very idea of human goodness shows that she must be trying.”

“She’s not a demon,” Mel corrected her instantly.

“And therein lies the issue, Melanie.” Noelle pointed a candy cane at her that hadn’t been there a moment before. “You’re so focused on denying Abigael’s demon side that you neglect to see that people have been doing that to her all her life.”

“But she doesn’t like being called a demon,” protested Mel.

“Maybe that is because everyone who calls her that sees it as a negative thing. An insult. A  _ flaw _ . Consider that maybe all she wants is to be acknowledged and accepted for who she is, fully, without being told she has to be someone she isn’t just to earn your love. It’s one of the basest of human needs. The middlemost chunk of Maslow’s hierarchy.”

“I don’t want her to have to work for my love,” muttered Mel. It was an admission of defeat of sorts, but it didn’t feel like failure.

“Precisely,” Noelle said. “You know that she has the capacity for good. It is not the sole reason you love her, but one of many. Why should it matter if she is good? She is yours.”

“She is.” Mel did believe that. They’d always be tied to each other, somehow, it was inevitable. 

“And that scares you?”   
  
Mel let out a shaky laugh. “More than anything. And that’s saying a lot, because I stopped the apocalypse. Twice.”

“I may be able to help you. A memory drew you here, didn’t it?” asked Noelle. Mel nodded, slowly, trying to recall it. A class trip over Christmas break, a fountain, a feeling of isolation and shame, a city that felt much too large at a moment where she had been feeling much too small. Next to the mug of hot cocoa there was now a shorter glass, filled to the brim with caramel-colored liquid. The smell of spice, coconut, and rum curled around Mel’s nose, beckoning her closer. “Take it. Taste it. I don’t often have ones who choose this drink.”

She lifted it to her lips. It was like Alice in Wonderland. Mel in the Diner. _ Drink Me _ . A terrible idea. Mel took a long sip and could barely register the rich, heady taste of the second-best coquito she’d ever had when she suddenly found herself somewhere entirely new.

Or was it new if she had been there before? Washington DC. She could tell because she could see the Washington Monument in the distance as her eyes adjusted. The hands she looked down at were hers, but different. Impossibly, Mel was looking on the exact same Washington DC she had seen on this day years ago, eleven Christmases ago, and she was herself, but younger, much younger.

Mel Vera was in the past.

Complete with the collection of rubber wristbands on her arms, low rise jeans, and UGG boots, unfortunately. This was before Mel had let herself go, let herself be herself.

Oh….

The memory’s blanks began to slowly fill in. This was it- this was the day after she’d been outed. She still didn’t know exactly how it happened, but she suspected someone had seen her kissing Brandi James at the party the Friday before, or maybe it was Brandi herself. In the present, Mel had been out for a long time, but damn it if that nearly-forgotten, hot, burning shame didn’t start spreading in her chest like a weed.

Mel felt tears well in her eyes of their own accord, what she knew to be true in her future mixing with the complicated teenaged emotions of the past. She let out a sob, clutching and twisting her hands together so hard that her knuckles flared pale. Mel had never wanted to feel this feeling again, so hopeless and insecure, but there she was, feeling it. The concrete of the fountain began to freeze through her jeans, and she bundled further into her hoodie.

Mel knew why Noelle had sent her here. Not only was it one of the lowest points of her life, but it was also the moment when she knew things would start to get better. Because of...

“Budge up, then.” Mel looked up, her dark, tearful eyes meeting two curious hazel ones. A fresh face, kinder and less angular than from Mel’s time, but still stunningly similar. A younger Abigael.

This was their real first meeting, not the locking of eyes from across the room as Abigael pretended to be someone she wasn’t and Mel tried desperately to get herself back. It was this, remarkable but easily forgotten. A chance meeting like this.

Oh, Noelle was good.

Abigael made an impatient gesture, and Mel realized she was staring. “Well?” Her voice was less refined, a little more rough, like a girl who grew up riding her bike around the city and getting into trouble with her friends, rather than a girl who sat in a parlor drinking tea and learning to repress weakness. Either could be true of Abigael. Maybe both. She wasn’t big on discussing her childhood. But there she was, practically still a child herself, just easing into the discomfort and culture shock of adulthood, and Mel was the same. She was at the same time her present self, grounded, more sure of who she was, a proud lesbian and a proud witch; and her past self, insecure, anxious, and full of rushing teenage hormones at the presence of a pretty girl.

Mel scooted, and young Abigael plopped herself down next to Mel, crossing her legs at the ankles, her restless hands doing a little slap-dance on the concrete. It was a detail she didn’t remember. Abigael mostly kept her hands completely still, almost rigid, as if she was putting energy into looking as upright as possible. Was that another thing her trauma had taken from her?

“Forgive me for prying, but why’re you so upset?” Abigael gestured towards the rest of Mel’s class, laughing and milling around on the grass across the square. “Shouldn’t you be having fun with your friends?”   


“They’re not my friends,” said Mel, the voice emerging from her mouth higher in tone, her Boricua accent more pronounced. The way her body moved felt like she was along for the ride, as if she were on Soarin’ at Disney World. She was a passenger inside of her past self, seeing life through her eyes.

“Not one of them?” asked Abigael, almost amused.

Mel shook her head. Her hair was longer, down past the middle of her back, her bangs thicker and swept to the side. She could feel them tickling her eyebrows, and a few locks fell into her eyes. “No one wants to talk to me right now. They’re afraid they’ll catch it.” Mel could feel a cringe from the past traveling up her spine, muted like an aftershock, telling her she shouldn’t have said that, shouldn’t have revealed such a deep, dark secret to a stranger.

Abigael tilted her head to the side, her fingers switching to a different drumbeat. “Catch what exactly?” She lowered her voice. “Have you got the chicken pox? Don’t worry, I’m caught up on my shots.”

Mel giggled. “Not that.” She stared down at her hands, the chipped red nail polish. She hated that color red, but it was popular.  _ Just say it _ , her present self urged.  _ Why? _ Her past self argued.

Abigael studied her for a second. “I’m not great with subtext. Is there something I should be….” Her eyes widened. “Ohhh. You’re…”

“Yeah. Now’s your cue to get out while you can.” Past Mel rolled her eyes silently. So angsty. But, she supposed, it was a sign of the times. 2009 was nowhere near as accepting as her current era. She remembered very well the pain of being outed, the casualness with which the kids would call her slurs in the hallway. Hell, she was feeling it again now, in real time.

Abigael scooted a bit closer to her. “Well, can’t catch something you already have, I suppose,” she said cheerfully.

Past Mel looked up in shock. Present Mel smiled inwardly. Classic Abigael. Proud even now. “You too?”

“Bisexual, actually. I sincerely hope that’s what you were talking about.” Abigael’s hand began to swing from side to side, like an orchestra conductor, the other tapping one finger on her stylish jeans.

“Yeah.”

Abigael smiled at her, her patented curled-lip smirk-smile that revealed a hidden dimple, only showing a hint of teeth, and Mel reeled from the familiarity. “So why bother with them?”

“What do you mean?”

Abigael jerked her head towards Mel’s classmates. “They’re not your friends. They don’t know about your life. Why let them control it?”

“I don’t let them. They just  _ do _ ,” said Mel.

“Lesson one, Girl I Just Met Five Minutes Ago,” began Abigael, holding up a finger. Her hands seemed to be constantly in motion, which was a stark contrast from the way present Abigael’s were always tightly clasped, controlled. Mel wondered briefly when along the way she’d been forced into suppressing her stimming. “No one can do anything to you if you don’t let them.” Mel watched her intently, feeling a soft sort of longing rise in her past self’s chest.  _ Oh, Little Mel. If only you knew… _ “At risk of sounding like a mum, if you don’t show them any weakness, they’ll think ‘man, this is sort of rubbish’ and fuck off.”

“Sounds a little like my mom, not gonna lie,” said Mel. “But not really.”

“Lesson two.” She held up another finger. “If that doesn’t work, set them on fire.” Mel let out an embarrassing snort, and Abigael chuckled along with her. “Joking. Or am I? You’ll never know.”

“Until I see you on the five o’clock news, getting arrested for arson,” giggled Mel.

Abigael laughed harder, waving her hands slightly in delight. “See if they catch me!” she crowed. The simple intimacy of laughing her ass off with someone washed over Mel like a wave. Abigael had always had an uncanny ability to calm her down and cheer her up, even then. “Now I’ve got an idea, but you have to trust me.”

Past Mel was surprised to find she did. Mel of the present was used to Abigael’s crazy schemes, secretly loved them, even. “Sure, I guess,” teen Mel said, not wanting to sound too eager.

“Up and at ‘em. Is your teacher watching?”   
  
Mel chanced a look. “No. He doesn’t even know I’m over here.”

“Milady.” Abigael extended a hand to her. Mel felt a thrill rush through her when she took it, and suddenly Abigael was pulling her away, out of the square and towards the shops. “I’m going to hazard a guess and say that the clothes you’re wearing aren’t quite what you wish your style to be.”

“No,” admitted Mel. “I always just pick out what’s popular.”

Abigael came to a stop in front of a building. Mel looked up to see a large sign that indicated it was a Nordstrom Rack. “Let’s remedy that.”

“But… I don’t have any money,” said Mel confusedly.

“No worries.” Abigael pulled a credit card out of her back pocket and waved it tantalizingly. “I have plenty to spare.”

“What? No!” Mel yanked her hand away in shock. “I just met you. I don’t even know your name. I can’t let you buy me stuff!”

“Hello, my name is Abi.” She gently nudged Mel’s hand with her own. “This is when you would typically tell me yours.”

“I’m Mel, but-” Mel tried to give Abigael her card back, but Abigael quickly put her arms out into a T and danced away.

“Pleasure to meet you, Mel. Look. We’re best mates now. And it’s not even my money, it’s my asshole father’s.” Something in her expression turned dark. “He won’t miss it, and even if he did, I wouldn’t care. You’re doing me a favor here, actually.”

Mel couldn’t argue with that logic. “Are you sure?” She looked down at the credit card. It was black and shiny. She thought she’d heard somewhere that only rich people had these types of cards.

“Positive.” Abigael placed the card in Mel’s hand and closed her fingers gently over it. “Shop until you die, or whatever the saying is.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not-” started Mel, but Abigael grabbed her other hand again and she was cut off by the whirlwind  _ whoosh _ of warm air coming from the store. 

They moved through the store almost too fast for Mel to process everything. Abigael was efficient in the way she shopped, moving through the store in complex patterns, muttering to herself under her breath, pointing out things she thought Mel would look good in, waiting for Mel to give her a nod or shake of the head before moving on with all of the purpose and practice of an infantryman.

It was strange, present Mel mused to herself, the clothes past Mel picked. It was all in the style of the times, sure, but a lot of the items were things present Mel still would have worn. In fact, she was sure still owned some of the clothes that Abigael held in a towering heap. Those black suspenders sure looked familiar. 

And then the real fun began. Abigael shoved her into a dressing room and started throwing clothes over the top, and Mel tried on every combination of them imaginable. Present Mel watched, amused, as past Mel cautiously pieced the suspenders together with some black skinny jeans and a collared shirt, blazer, and even a few chains. Abigael looked like someone had punched her in the gut when Mel emerged from the dressing room in that outfit.

“I kinda like these,” said Mel. “But I’m not sure-”

“No! You look stunning,” Abigael burst out, then cleared her throat. “I mean. Yes. Great. Get those.”

Present Mel smiled inwardly. Abigael didn’t get flustered easily, and she loved it when, in her time, she could have her at a loss for words somehow.

They shopped for at least three hours. Mel never saw the appeal in shopping before, whether it was with her so-called friends or with her mom and sister, (present Mel and Maggie were closer than most sisters, and she would also give anything to go shopping with her mom again, but at the time she was in that phase where she got embarrassed by her family every time they breathed), but with Abigael she found herself getting into it, even having fun. The time passed in a flash and soon Mel worried that she might lose her classmates. Abigael was fully prepared to pick up another pile, but Mel assured her that she had plenty of clothes.

It was really the gesture that mattered anyway. Present Mel knew it wasn’t about the clothes or the money, it was about the fact that Mel had met someone who cared and understood. Mel had no idea where she would have ended up if not for Abigael’s kindness.

The fact that she would end up falling in love with her was just a wonderful bonus.

Although, Mel thought, as she felt a warm, nervous feeling fill her stomach as she watched Abigael making conversation with the cashier, maybe she had always been a little bit in love with Abigael. She had loved her, even eleven Christmases ago. 

Abigael insisted on carrying the bags back to the hotel, which was where Mel assumed her class would end up. “Helps me not fidget so much,” she explained cheerfully.  _ Why would you want to stop? It’s a part of you, a beautiful part _ , Mel wanted to scream to her, but she couldn’t.

At the door, Mel reached for her stuff, but Abigael pulled it away from her. “Just a minute. These clothes aren’t just clothes. They’re a promise.”

“What do you mean?” asked Mel.

“It’s a promise to me, and to you, that you’ll be yourself. Even if it’s daunting, even if no one likes you for it, you say  _ fuck them _ and do what makes you happy, always.” Abigael’s eyes were serious, searching. “I know what it’s like to try and be someone you’re not. It rips you open. You regret it. We don’t really know each other, but something tells me you’re too good for that. And I’m never wrong.” Abigael leaned in, raising an eyebrow, her voice barely a whisper. “Do you swear on your suspenders?”

“That’s a dumb thing to swear on,” giggled Mel.

“Be dumb, then.”

“I swear,” said Mel.

Abigael smiled, that familiar smile. “Then Happy Christmas, Mel. I’m glad we ran into each other.” She handed over the bags. It felt like a sacred moment.

Mel felt her eyes fill with tears as she grinned up at Abigael. And for once, present Mel knew she’d be feeling the same things if she was in her future body. “Merry Christmas, Abi.”

Abigael leaned forward and pecked her softly on the cheek, then strolled away, her hands in her pockets and light on her feet. So different, yet so similar to the Abigael she knew. Mel felt one happy tear roll down her cheek as she watched the love of her life’s retreating back, and suddenly with no warning she was back in her seat at the diner, with Noelle across the table and the coquito in her hand.

Embarrassingly enough, she burst into tears. “Thank you,” was all she could get out. “Thank you.”

“A strange memory, more touching and poetic than the ones I usually come across,” Noelle mused. “Did you know you and Abigael met before?”

“We found out around this time last year,” said Mel, wiping her eyes. She remembered that clearly, at least. Abigael had asked her what her favorite Christmas present she’d ever received was, and Mel had told her all about the kind stranger in Lafayette Square. Abigael had smiled in that familiar way, the corners of her eyes crinkling, and said, “I was in Washington DC on Christmas that year, too. Love, what was her name?” and waited for Mel to put two and two together. Then they laughed about it for about ten solid minutes, and went off to go make sure Macy hadn’t burned the turkey. It was the kind of chance meeting that felt like fate, even though neither Abigael nor Mel believed in destiny. 

“Boggles the mind, doesn’t it?”

“I guess, but when I think about it, not really,” Mel said. “The fact that the girl who very possibly saved my life back then is the girl I love today is somehow both the weirdest and most natural thing in the world. She’s saved my life so many times, why not one more?”

“Wisely put. I hoped that memory would help you remember the innate goodness that Abigael held,” said Noelle, taking a sip of her hot cocoa. “Did it?”

Mel shook her head. “No. It did something better. It helped me remember how much I love her. How much I always have, and always will. Maybe the real thing I couldn’t come to terms with is…. that I  _ do _ love her when she’s not all the way good. To me,” Mel corrected herself before Noelle could step in.

Noelle smiled proudly. “Even better.”

“I think I need-” Mel stood abruptly. “I need to talk to her, I need to help her fight. I don’t care if we’re not together anymore, I can’t let her do it alone.”

“Drink the coquito. It will keep you warm.” Noelle pushed it towards her. “I’m glad I got to speak to you, Mel.” It was the first time she hadn’t called her Melanie.

“Thank you,” Mel said again, before downing the coquito in three strong gulps. A warmth spread through her chest, both alcoholic and magical in nature. She stepped forward and found herself outside the diner, without a glass in hand, in the middle of a raging snowstorm that seemed to have no effect on her whatsoever. When she turned, it was as if the diner had never existed at all, with not even an imprint in the snow to indicate something had been there. “Cliche,” she mumbled.

And so she went, off to the docks. A little less than a half-mile to go. It was a bit weird to have control of her body again after several hours had passed- for her- moving as if she were in a simulation. But according to her watch, scarcely five minutes had passed. Now that the cold didn’t touch her, she had a singular purpose in mind, and that was Abigael. She knew that if she just talked to her, apologized, explained what had happened, she could fix it all. She could fix  _ them _ . 

As she neared the docks, she heard both inhuman roaring and the reedy sound of Abigael shouting, hurling creative insults. She picked up into a run, the wind stinging her face despite the absence of cold, her feet meeting snowy boards instead of frosted, hard-packed dirt as the ground gave way to the dock. The sounds seemed to be coming from a broken-down, possibly abandoned storehouse at the end, as well as an eerie light that glowed bluish yellow. The door was open, hanging from one hinge, and the scene in front of Mel stopped her cold in her tracks.

Abigael was facing down a hulking eldritch monstrosity of a creature, so terrifying that Mel’s brain couldn’t process it all at once. It was a fire, a whirling vortex, it had too many eyes and too many limbs and it glowed like the sun’s bastard child. Abigael herself was floating three feet in the air, surrounded by a halo of the sickly blue light Mel had seen from the end of the dock. She was shaking, from fear or effort, Mel couldn’t tell. Her arm was so bloody that her shirt didn’t look white anymore, her Christmas sweater that Maggie had lovingly picked out for her hanging from her body in shreds, one leg dangling as if she’d lost the use of it. She had three dark, horrible claw marks raked across the left side of her face, and one of her beautiful hazel eyes was swollen shut. She had been crying, the tears carving tracks in the dried blood, and the expression on her face was a mix of pain, terror, resolve, and grim fortitude.

Mel focused in on the light. It seemed to work as a shield, and it made the creature claw at its eyes, blinding it and holding it at bay. It was a spell, one she recognized, but something about it made her head ache and her stomach turn. The emotion powering it was anger, as well as fear and hopelessness, and it was unstable, the entire room crackling with the energy like it was about to explode and throw the three of them into the snowstorm raging outside. It consumed Abigael, and if she released it, it would probably level the docks. Mel felt like she was about to throw up.

This was a magical suicide bombing. She wanted to take out the demon even if she took herself with it. How could Mel ever have believed she wasn’t good?

“Abi!” she screamed, over the howling of the storm outside, the moaning of the creature, and the nails-on-a-chalkboard screech of the charm charging up. 

Abigael finally noticed Mel and her expression changed to panic. “No…. no, you can’t be here!”

“I came to help you!” Mel felt herself start to shiver as the effects of the magical coquito wore off. “Look, that’s a solar charm. You’re going to get yourself hurt or-”

“You have to leave now.” Abigael shook her head. “This spell is uncontrollable. I don’t want to injure you.”

“But what about you?”

“You were correct. I’m reckless,” she cried. “I put people in danger. I swear I’m never going to do that again. I’m going to stop this monster, and I’m going to stop myself too.”

Mel could swear she felt her heart break in two. Was she really comparing herself to the horror threatening their home? Was that really how she saw herself? “No! I was just mad, I regret saying those things, but you have to come down, killing this monster isn’t worth losing you, nothing is.”

“Please, just go, I don’t want to hurt you, not again, Oh God.” Abigael quaked harder, the light building until it was almost hard to look directly at. “Mel.”

Mel remembered what Noelle told her. How Abigael had spent her life being told to be someone she wasn’t. How Mel telling her all the things she knew she was, while twisting them and treating them as if they were flaws, had probably hurt like nothing else could. She took a deep breath, taking a step closer. “Listen to me. Maybe you are reckless. Maybe you are vindictive, and manipulative. You’re the most infuriating, chaotic, sarcastic, interesting, and wonderful person I’ve ever met. It’s all part of what makes you  _ you _ . I don’t love you in spite of those things, I love you because of them.”

“But I’m a demon,” Abigael said, her voice cracking. “I’m always going to be a demon. Mel. I can keep you safe. I’m beyond repair, but you’re too good for this world. You have been since the day I met you.”

Those words echoed what Abigael had told her in front of the hotel, eleven Christmases ago.  _ You’re too good _ . One of her strengths, but also ultimately one of her downfalls. It had caused her to hurt the woman that she loved. “You’re right. You are a demon. But that’s not a good or a bad thing. I’m not sure if those really exist. It just  _ is _ ,” said Mel, pain and remorse creeping into her voice. “You’re a demon, Abi, and I love you.”

“I’m beyond repair,” Abigael repeated, more hesitantly this time. She lowered slowly, closer to the floor.

“You don’t need repairing.” Mel held out her hands to Abigael. “Please just let me help you. We can refine the spell. I don’t care if I get hurt, as long as I’m with you. I’m not letting you go, not ever again.”

“Never?” asked Abigael, plaintively, full of pain and hope. The light began to dim.

“Never, corazon,” Mel promised.

New tears ran down Abigael’s cheeks as she tried to decide whether to let the spell go. Finally, she spoke, barely more than a whisper. It was a miracle Mel heard it above the din inside the building.

“ _ Swear on your suspenders? _ ”

Mel choked out a laugh through the sob building in her throat. “That’s a dumb thing to swear on.”

“Then be dumb,” Abigael cried back.

“I swear.”

And then Abigael was back to the floor, the light gone completely, and Mel lurched forward to catch her as she collapsed. 

_ “ _ I’m sorry,” she said again, tears beginning to stream down her face. “I’m so sorry, Abigael. Look what they did to you. Look what I did to you.” Abigael struggled to stand on her own and found that she couldn’t, collapsing into her. “Abi,” murmured Mel, her name like a prayer on her lips as she brushed a tawny lock of hair from Abigael’s forehead.

Abigael tilted her head up, trying to get her bearings. She focused on Mel’s face as Mel grazed her fingers over Abigael’s injured eye. “Don’t worry about that. It’s nothing Harold can’t fix,” Abigael joked weakly. Mel pulled her into a crushing hug, burying her face in Abigael’s shoulder, trying to find the smell of her perfume amongst the smell of fear and blood. “Ribs!” Abigael squeaked. 

“Sorry! Sorry.” Mel let her go, and Abigael swooned, catching herself on Mel’s arm. “Oh God, you’ve lost so much blood.”

“You just squeezed the last bit I had out of me,” she said, wrinkling her nose. Mel resisted the urge to smack her in the shoulder like she normally would.

To be honest, Mel had completely forgotten about the monster once she had Abigael in her arms again, but when it let out an impatient roar, it made it very difficult to ignore. Mel whipped her head around towards it, now with no light shield holding it back. Abigael and Mel locked eyes. (Well, eye, in Abigael’s case.) An unspoken promise passed between them: they were going to kill this thing, or die right next to each other trying. Together, or not at all.

At times like this, Mel found it hard to remember ever hating the girl beside her.

“Abi, I’m going to lend you some power, okay?” she said slowly, trying not to draw the monster’s fire. “And what even  _ is _ that thing? It looks like Satan’s sleep paralysis demon.”

“It’s a  _ lilu _ ,” said Abigael, straightening up. Despite the pain in her voice, Mel could detect glee there as well. “It’s positively Biblical. I’ve never seen one in real life before.” 

“Okay, defeat it now, stamp your baddie passport later,” said Mel. She took Abigael’s hand, twining their magic together. She felt Abigael’s weakness, her failing heart, her foggy head, and poured strength and love into her. There were so many times that Abigael had been her rock, and now she could return the favor.

Abigael gasped as she felt her strength returning, and she stretched out a hand, arm curved like a parenthesis. Mel mirrored her motion, closing the circle, and a ball of blue light, stronger and more saturated than before, began to whirl and grow in front of them. The two of them poured magic into the charm and into each other, sharing and magnifying the power until the room felt alive. Abigael and Mel looked at each other, with fear, with love, with so many other emotions in between. Mel was suddenly aware this could be the last thing they ever saw.  


“Your hands,” said Mel suddenly. “I noticed. You always keep them so poised. Didn’t you used to fidget?”

“I did. I still do, when no one’s watching.” Abigael looked sadly at her hands, the light coming off of them in waves. “I think it makes me look weak.”

“I think it’s cute,” Mel said honestly. “If we get out of here, you should let yourself do it more.”

“Maybe I will. Maybe it’s time for me to let go of the idea that things that make me who I am are things that make me weak.”

“Look at you, applying the things you learned in therapy.” The ball grew brighter still until Mel was squinting. “We’re there!”

“Never could master this buggered spell,” Abigael said mournfully.

“Lucky you have me,” Mel answered.

Abigael smiled at her. That familiar, infuriating, goddamned beautiful smile. “Yes, I am.”

And with that, they released the charm.

-

When Mel woke up (she woke up! That had to be a good sign that she wasn’t dead, right?), she was lying in the rubble of the building, half-pinned under a plank. She groaned and tried to move it, and found, surprisingly, that she could, that she was uninjured for the most part, save for a few bumps and bruises. As she sat up, it all came rushing back to her, and she frantically called out Abigael’s name. She was met with a cry of “Mel!” but the voice was all wrong, it was much higher and less raspy. Maggie’s voice.

“Mel, we came as soon as we could, but the building had already collapsed,” Maggie rambled as she navigated through the field of broken planks and crushed, jagged bricks, finding her way to her sister as fast as she could. “We couldn’t find you. I thought you were-” her eyes shimmered with tears. “You-”

“I’m okay, Mags. I’m okay.” Maggie pulled her up and out of the wreckage, and hugged her hard. Mel melted into her little sister’s embrace, feeling the weight of the past several hours leave her briefly. Macy, Harry, and Jordan appeared over the crest of the hill behind the docks. No Abigael.

Mel pulled back and held Maggie’s face in her hands. “Have you seen Abi yet?” Maggie shook her head no. Mel remembered the moments after they had released the spell. The two of them had used the last of their strength to throw up a shield around themselves. If she had been fine, Abigael should have been too... but she had other injuries. What if she was... “We need to find her, now!”

After five minutes of searching around that area, during which Macy and the guys had arrived and started helping, Jordan uncovered Abigael’s outstretched hand with an “eep!”. They dug her out, definitely the worse for wear, and, to Mel’s relief, Harry’s powers didn’t falter when they reached her, meaning she was alive. At this point, that was the most Mel had been hoping for.

Mel crouched next to her on the broken wood as color returned to her face. She gasped and sat upright woozily before Harry could finish, her eye still swollen shut, her shoulder still bloodied. The first thing she focused on was Maggie. “Oh, dear, your sweater,” she murmured. “I ruined it.”

Maggie let out a sob-laugh. “It’s okay, Abi, we can get a new sweater. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

Abigael smiled dazedly. “Really?” She turned to Mel. “Did you hear? Maggie is glad I’m okay.”

“Shut up,” Mel said, and kissed her softly. Macy made her obligatory gagging noise.

“Remind me to nearly die more often,” Abigael said, her voice muffled as Mel moved on to covering every part of her face in kisses.

Harry sat back on his heels. “Everything seems to be in working order.”

“Good, because-” Mel cuffed Abigael on the shoulder, and she let out an offended yelp. “That’s for being an idiot and scaring the hell out of me!”

“Okay, I’ll avoid it in the future, can we go back to the kisses?” whined Abigael.

Mel rolled her eyes fondly, looped her arm around Abigael’s chest and, with the help of Maggie and Harry, pulled her to her feet. 

“Let’s go home. I’m so tired, I feel like we’ve lived through, like, a decade, just tonight,” Maggie said.

If only she knew how accurate that actually was. 

“Harry,” Mel began as they supported Abigael across the sea of debri, trying to find a more stable spot to portal home. “Have you ever heard of a- I don’t know, like a magical therapist? A witch or something who helps solve problems.”

“No, nothing like that.” Harry paused. “Well, there was a story I heard quite a bit ago…”

“Tell me.”

“I heard there was a demon who wanted to help others. Who was tired of demons being known for their bad traits, because all she had ever wanted to do was solve others’ problems with her powers, and she was judged by both demons and humans for it,” Harry mused. “She only appears to those who need it. But it’s only a legend I heard once, there’s no proof that this reformed demon actually exists.”

Mel turned to smile at Abigael, who returned it, albeit a little confused. “What is it?” Abigael asked her.

“Nothing,” said Mel. “Probably just a fairy tale.”

And with that, Macy threw down the marble, and they all stepped through the portal together.


End file.
